The Gadgeteer
by Sarruby
Summary: Welcome to Deerfield High School. Here, you'll meet many types of students, some more interesting than others. Some more organized than others. And some far, far duller than any person you'll ever meet. One-shot.


AN: I'm alive! And I wrote something! I know- a miracle!

Please enjoy this hot-off-the-press fic!

* * *

Derek looked at the school's red brick paving. _Deerfield High School_, he thought, _the place more boring than the day sky is blue_. The sun glinted off a metal grate, and Derek closed his eyes for a minute. Eventually, looked up to see that his feet had carried him to the entrance of the school. A step further and he'd've fallen up the stairs.

It wouldn't've be the first time.

"Oy, Derek!" a voice called from behind. "Are you going in, or are you sleepwalking?"

"I'm awake, Tally." She was a nice girl- she recently moved into the neighborhood. Not very pretty, though- with her oval head and indistinct features, she resembled a brown lemon with eyes and a mouth drawn on it. Her hair made her look like a mushroom, and the popular girls had been quick to dismiss her as another average schoolgirl: nothing worthy of their attention.

But Tally was special: she was a near genius.

Derek had glanced at her report card last semester. Straight A's, all with a small plus. Far better than his own C's and D's. School just wasn't interesting to him.

"Well?" Tally drew Derek's attention once more. "Are you going in? Don't want to be late - Mr. Weston's a real jerk, never mind when you prank him."

"I've got a new trick today, too." Derek held the door for Tally. She stepped past quickly and efficiently. The halls were bustling with schoolchildren.

"Oh?" Tally had genuine interest in Derek's tricks. Last time, he'd infused his thick-soled shoes with a silly string canister. He'd accidentally set the contraption off in the middle of class while sitting in the front row. Mr. Weston had been less than amused.

"I call it the Glittering Pencil." He held out a sparkling, glitter-covered, red pencil. It was unsharpened.

Tally gave him the look she usually reserved for the bullies that told her how ugly she was, for when the teachers reviewed, and sometimes for when the math teacher instructed. It quite plainly stated _you-idiot-stop-stating-the-obvious_. "Oh, come on!" he continued. "It's shiny, is it not?"

Tally rolled her eyes. "So what does it do?" They paused as they grabbed books from their lockers. Derek looked into hers. As always, it was impeccably neat. A shelf with textbooks, a pencil case in the door. But the door closed quickly- she could find everything she needed in seconds.

Derek, on the other hand, was not so organized.

There was last week's lunch in the back and textbooks haphazardly thrown into the main section. Some of his 'experiments' were sitting on the small shelf at the top.

After a few minutes, Tally looked down at her perfectly-timed watch. Other students were swarming into classrooms like ants drawn to food. "If your locker didn't look like a bomb went off in it, we might get to class on time."

"One did, you know." He paused, reconsidering. "Well, similar to a bomb." Tally rolled her eyes again. Derek's hand rummaged around the bottom and closed around a small candy. "Care for a peppermint?"

"Sure." Tally's mom didn't let her have candy often. Her dentist complained, though she never had cavities. A miracle, really.

Derek passed her the treat, and she popped it into her mouth quickly. Her head bobbed up and down between Derek's locker-searching and her watch.

"Come on, we've got two minutes," she hissed. There were very few other students daring enough to challenge the school's tardy system. Needless to say, it was _very _strict.

Derek grappled for the last few books. "Just one more... there!" He pulled out a nondescript red-covered notebook with a round binding. They darted toward the classroom.

"That's not one of your regular notebooks, is it?"

"I call it the Flipbook."

Tally muttered sarcastically, "Creative. How many pictures has it got?"

Derek took no offense, though. "None. I'll get the puns someday. Just wait 'till you see what it does before you judge."

"Greetings," a dull new voice intruded.

Derek wheeled around, though he wasn't very athletic- far from it. His slightly pudgy midsection jiggled. "What? Who are you?" The newcomer's face was blank, but it was obvious that he was addressing Derek. He'd broken unwritten rule of school: never talk to those outside your social circle.

Tally confirmed Derek's suspicions. "I haven't seen you around before. You're new, aren't you? Where's your book bag?"

She paused with a glance at her watch. "Never mind- there's only thirty seconds before the bell. Hurry, hurry!"

* * *

To Derek's surprise, the new kid had the same first class: advanced mathematics.

The teacher had not been amused. The new kid had just stepped into the classroom before the bell went off. But they'd made it - Mr. Weston couldn't complain.

_Math, my _favorite_ subject_, Derek thought sarcastically. He'd failed it every year, but his test scores were high enough that his parents' insistence on "more math for their bright boy" had gone through. Really, Mr. Weston assigned too much homework. How could an inventive genius like Derek be trapped by _math_ homework? It was way too easy! Sometimes he thought Mr. Weston just wanted to torture the students.

Mr. Weston started roll call. "Samuel Adams?"

"Here, sir."

"Alan Blunt?"

"Here, sir." Aha, so that was the new kid's name. His voice was deep and gravelly and commanding, but oddly dull unlike most teenagers'. Rather like his name, in fact.

The teacher continued. Derek winced when he called out Tally's real name. She hated it with a passion. "Tulip Jones?"

"Here, sir," she muttered. A few classmates snickered.

"Josiah Smith?"

"Here, sir."

Mr. Weston paused as he read the next name. His low, unforgiving monotone exuded utter loathing for the student. One really couldn't call it a question; besides, Derek was _never_ absent (unless he was in detention), no matter what his teachers wanted. "Derek Smithers?"

"Here, sir!" he called out cheerfully. Some of the other students laughed, but Mr. Weston's glare silenced the room faster than Derek could make a snowball (which was very, very quickly). The teacher then named the rest of the students, though perhaps less energetically than before.

"Alright, then," Mr. Weston started, "it's time to begin class. I'm sure you all know this is Advanced Mathematics except for your new friend. Mr. Blunt?"

Alan Blunt didn't look too happy about being singled out. "Yes, sir?"

"Would you care to introduce yourself?" It wasn't a kind question at all. More like an order.

"My name is Alan Blunt. Please call me Blunt." Alan paused. No one laughed. Alan's monotone was far too deterring.

"Well, then," said Mr. Weston, "since _Mr. Blunt_ seems to have forgotten his school supplies, would someone be so kind as to lend him some?"

Derek was certain Alan must hate Mr. Weston by now, but his polite yet boring tone gave away nothing - just like his empty, gray face. "I did not forget, sir. The school's supply list never came."

"Silence! You will speak only when spoken to. Is that understood, Mr. Blunt?" Mr. Weston nearly shouted, his pale skin now flushed crimson. Derek had long ago decided that this teacher would do well as a drill sergeant.

Derek was shocked when Alan's tone didn't change _at all_. It was the same, polite sound. "Yes, sir."

"Now, does anyone have any spare supplies?" He looked around quickly before anyone could volunteer. Like always, he picked on Derek. "I see you seem to have an extra notebook today, Mr. Smithers. Would you please lend it to Mr. Blunt?"

"Erm, now, I don't really think that's -"

"_Mr. Smithers, would you lend your spare paper and pencils to Mr. Blunt?_"

"Ah..." Derek would've thought Mr. Weston would learn to be wary of his school supplies, but apparently not. "Sure." He grinned and passed Alan the red glittering pencil, a bright red pencil sharpener, and the nondescript red notebook. He also winked in warning.

Alan's blank mask didn't move, except for the lips. "Thank you, Smithers." Did he understand that Derek was not to be trusted?

"Now then," Mr. Weston continued, "Please open your books to page 392. Mr. Blunt, please look on with Mr. Smithers." He paused while twenty-one textbooks flapped open with several 'thuds'. "Today we are learning about-"

_CRACK!_

A bright light stopped him. Alan had tried to sharpen the glittering red pencil, but it burst into flames.

Little to his knowledge, Derek had specially prepared that pencil. It was made out of a special mixture of firework ingredients. A regular pencil eraser was attached for disguising, and a match-head had been deconstructed and reattached to the bottom: the perfect fuse. The sharpener was not ordinary either. Its blade had been replaced with sandpaper, like a matchbox's side.

Of course, the pencil was like a sparkler. It was crackling very loudly. It was also very one was hurt yet, but some girls were screaming and others had stood up in shock. A few students freaked out and ran around the classroom to avoid the sparks. Some of the cheerleaders were cheering. Others ducked for cover. One student was shouting, "My eyes, my eyes!"

Mr. Weston's veins looked like they were trying to jump out of his skin. "MR. SMITHERS, YOU-" But he didn't get to finish.

Alan had dropped the pencil and hit the very end of the red notebook accidentally out of shock, though the only change in his expression was to widen his eyes.

Smithers had modified the notebook very carefully. The exterior was a notebook, but the inside was a modified mousetrap, triggered by hitting either end of the notebook. Not only had Alan dropped the pencil onto the notebook that had its binder facing the teacher, he'd also triggered the spring mechanism in shock.

The pencil flew to the front of the room. Mr. Weston sort-of caught it. It bounced off his chest, lighting his shirt on fire, and then landed in his hand. "YE-ARGH!" he hollered, flinging the still-flaming not-pencil onto his desk. Thankfully, it landed in his coffee, extinguishing the flame.

Unfortunately, coffee was Mr. Weston's lifeline. And everyone knew it.

For a minute, the room was total chaos. Eventually, Mr. Weston had managed to put out the small fire.

For a long minute, pandemonium reigned. But like always, the disciplined Mr. Weston brought everything under control. His eyes squinted to slits, and he resembled a plum. A biologist would have loved to examine him at that moment: every vein was visible in his bald scalp. Then he opened his mouth.

"DEREK ALBERT SMITHERS, YOU HAVE DETENTION FOR _THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE!_" The room was completely silent.

As if nothing had happened, Derek answered nonchalantly, "But I graduate next year, sir." The answering laughter was surrounding, except for Mr. Weston and Alan. Said student was still as blank-faced as ever. Party-pooper.

Mr. Weston seemed to realize that stress would give him a heart attack, and he took a deep breath before muttering threateningly, "Go the _bliddy_ office and tell the _bliddy_ headmaster _exactly _what you did in my classroom. And _don't_ come back."

Despite his nerves, Derek answered as calmly as he could. "Yes, sir."

He left for the headmaster's room.

* * *

"Oh, you should have seen the look on his face!" Tally laughed at lunch. "He couldn't teach the lesson at all. He was sp-sp-sputtering!" A spray of spittle hit Derek, and he wiped it away. She blushed slightly but went on. "Like that, actually. I heard he fell asleep in second period. Not enough caffeine."

Tally paused and added, more solemnly. "Mr. Weston's going to kill you, if your parents don't first." She was still smiling, though. Derek was not so amused, despite the numerous pat-on-the-backs, congrats, and thanks from other students.

"I know. I was planning to use it after school at the park, but the opportunity sprung up."

"And?"

For the first time since he'd emerged from the headmaster's office, Derek smiled. "It was worth it. I'm One-hundred percent sure. Even the headmaster's chewing-out won't deter me from making more gadgets."

"Hello, Smithers." Alan had appeared out of nowhere. Tally jumped.

Normally, Derek would have chided him for calling him 'Smithers', but his classmate was so blank-faced that Derek was too uncomfortable to do so. "Erm, hello, Alan."

"Please call me Blunt."

"Are you kidding?" Derek asked, his voice hopeful and joking at the same time.

"Not at all. I never joke." Privately, Derek thought he might be telling the truth. Never joking would match Alan's robotic personality perfectly.

"We've only five minutes and thirty-two seconds to finish lunch," Tally interrupted. The new kid's presence startled her into a more professional manner. Derek wished he'd go away. Alan was just so awkward!

For a long minute, no one spoke. Alan's gaze drifted between the two like a hawk watches prey, but both were trying to avoid his gaze. Derek felt like Alan was peering into his soul. He didn't like that.

To avoid conversation, both Tally and Derek ate slowly. Finally, there were only a few moments left until the bell rang. All of them were finished eating, but none were speaking.

Surprisingly, apparently antisocial Alan broke the silence. It was like he was trying to be human for once.

"I think," he stated solemly, "this will be the beginning of a long acquaintance."

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! Did ya'll know that Smithers' name really is Derek? (Alex Rider's Mission Files say so, page 19.) I dunno about the middle name, though...

**Never mind reviewing - please, _please _read Horowitz's side-stories!** Links on my profile. Tell me if I missed any. Then read my other stories.

Word count: 2525!


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